The Great Shoe Incident of Yule
by RandomViolets
Summary: Sirius Black is a drama queen, everyone knows this. He's also a fashionista if high standards. The Yule Ball rolls around, and the Maruaders and Lilly have to deal with a very eccentric Sirius Black causing what would later be referred to as The Great Shoe Incident of Yule. (Marauders era, happy fic. all fluff and fun)


A/N: Hi guys! For those of you who follow my ongoing One Piece story Shanks as a Dad, I'm so sorry I haven't updated. My life has been crazy and I've been overrun by the Marvel fandom. I will get to that once my life slows down and my brain lets me think of something other than superheroes. This is something I churned out in english class a while ago and never posted.

For those of you who aren't reading my One Piece stuff, ignore the previous paragraph. Enjoy!

* * *

' _This is ridiculous'_ , I thought. Me, of all people, having this dilemma, today, of all days.

Ridiculous.

I huffed and turned away from the charmed mirror, holding up first one set of robes, then another, and squinting into the reflective surface while doing my personal rendition of magical supermodel poses. My reflection huffed back at me.

"Dear if you keep going on like that you're going to decide on an outfit the moment the ball is over," the magically mimed reflection of myself chided, looking utterly fed up with all of my pacing.

Of all the damned and dreaded things I had to inherit from my mother, it just had to be her insufferable need for perfection in fashion. Walburga Black was notorious for her fashion statements. Never wore the same outfit to any two events ever, and righteously picky about the slightest detail of any piece of clothing. If it didn't make the exact, perfect statement for the event she was attending, she was not wearing it. Period. There was no other option.

It was silently-and not so silently-infuriating, if Peter complaining about my stomping from the other side of the room was any indication. I am not my mother, yet here I am, behaving like her before a damn ministry event.

It's the bloody Yule ball. I can't for the life of me find robes that suit my mood properly. It's problematic of a new level.

"Pads just wear the red ones that you bought last month and be done with it," James moaned from his place draped over Moony's bed. They were supposed to be helping me.

I'm fairly sure that they stopped "helping" after I threw a pillow at Remus in a fit of, well, James called it "bitchy hysteria".

He's really not wrong.

In either case, that had collided with the werewolf's face, and Moony had shot me a sour, unimpressed look before disappearing into the common room, claiming he would see us when someone finally managed to get my arse ready to go.

It's now an hour later, and James and Peter were still trying, albeit with much less energy than before.

"Good gods Siri if you keep this up you'll take longer than the girls. And they take six bloody hours to get ready!" James exclaimed, still not moving when I tossed the discarded red robes on top of his face, unsatisfied with the amount of eye-catching pull in it's crimson folds.

"At this rate he should just put on a dress. It would be faster than robes." Peter muttered distractedly, not really paying attention to anything other than the sugar quill in his mouth.

I paused. A dress huh?

James heard my feet stop pacing and looked up-well, tilted his head back until he could look at me upside down from his sprawled position. "Pads?"

"Hush, I'm thinking." I waved him off distractedly, mentally flipping through the fashion catalogues that always littered the house-and that I accidentally memorized out of boredom while my mother went dress shopping(hounding the salesperson for at least 12 hours until she found the exact thing she wanted, probably after trying on everything in the store, and some of the stock ).

"Oh no Peter, you've given him an idea," James groaned, throwing an arm over his face dramatically.

"As long as it gets his arse dressed soon I'll take it," the other boy groused.

"You've never dealt with Sirius Black with an _idea_ regarding fashion. The last time that happened he showed up dressed as a peacock because he wanted to make an _impression_ at the costume ball." James recalled morosely.

Peter snorted, amused, yet unsurprised at the image.

"He said _hush_ Peter. Do you know when potty mouth Sirius Orion Black uses the word "hush"? When he's being a dramatic twat." Prongs insisted.

"He's always a dramatic twat," Peter argued.

"More of a dramatic twat than usual I mean. A fashionista twat. The uppity perfectionist kind of twat that drives everyone mad," James argued.

"And how is that any different than usual?" Peter asked sourly.

I ignored them in favor of narrowing down my choices. Hmm. Ball gown was out. Floor length was a pain in the arse, plus I'm _trying_ to be an amusing, raucous twat. It needs to be extravagant.

I raised an eyebrow, looking into the mirror thoughtfully. A cocktail dress? Now that could work. It's ridiculous for the occasion-borderline inappropriate, but as long as I adhere to basic decency I shouldn't be reprimanded for it. What color? Red would be too typical. Every gryffindor wore red, and half the girls would be in gold this year.

Another thought popped into my head as James recalled the Jaguar Incident to Peter. Admittedly one of my worse decisions in fashion, however it pissed off mother so I really couldn't bring myself to care that much about my lapse in judgement. Oh, what would piss her off most? I can't just recreate something she did. Not exactly. Regardless of my views of her that would just be tacky. So what…

I crowed in triumph. Silver! It's a slytherin color, but above all it's her _favorite_ color. And now she'll be forced to associate it with her _least favorite_ son, and public embarrassment to boot. If I make it gaudy enough-oh imaging it being muggle too? She would have _kittens_ if she got word of such a thing. And she will, obviously.

I continued to ignore my now bickering roommates in favor of casting several semi intricate transfiguration spells on my clothes.

When I finished the room was silent, I studied my chosen outfit with a grin that Moony would label "shit-eating". James gave a put-upon sigh and got up.

"Are you finally done?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"He's done?" Peter asked, starting to scramble upward.

The two of them stopped and stared at my chosen ensemble. James with an expression of exasperation and Peter with blank-faced surprise. Remus popped in a moment later, asking if I was ready. His expression did not shift in the slightest as he saw my outfit.

The werewolf sighed through his nose at my wide grin and didn't say anything else as we paraded out into the nearly empty halls, and to the great hall.

* * *

Lilly was laughing. I couldn't blame her really, I know I looked absurd at a wizarding event. That was the entire point.

"C'mon Evans, you know I look fabulous." And I did.

I had transfigured my clothes into a gaudy, glittery cocktail dress covered in light-catching sequins. It had a nearly indecent neckline, and went only just far enough down my thighs to be decent. It was actually quite flattering, in an odd way. If it hadn't been a woman's dress it probably wouldn't even be that funny, but it was, so it was.

However it wasn't really the dress that had her giggling. While it was surprising it was hardly the most raucous thing I'd ever worn around school-or the most revealing. She was giggling at the shoes.

Monstrously high heels had me towering over everyone but Hagrid, who I was nearly nose-level to in the ridiculous things. They were as silver and sparkly as the dress I wore, and twice as strange. Strappy things that I had remembered from a muggle magazine a while ago. The thin plastic supports twined up my ankles to my calves in strange patterns. The soles were hollow wedge platforms filled with swirling glitter solution, and suspended lights. My feet looked like a walking pixie sphere, glowing and glittering and generally looking quite strange.

It took me several minutes to master walking in the contraptions-and several instances of nearly falling over. James continued to rib me about the ridiculous height of the things well into the dance.

Prongs scoffed, "They can't be so terrible to walk in. Padfoot is doing just fine!"

Lilly gave him a dry look before turning to look at my shoes. She raised an eyebrow, "Let me guess, cushioning charms?"

I grimaced, "Yeah. These things feel like walking on slanted bricks. I'm not sure if it's just my transfiguration or not but they were bloody painful."

"It's not just the transfiguration. That's how most heels are." She confirmed.

A muttered spell and a pop later, and suddenly my best friend nearly matched me in height. I glanced down at his startling black stilettos. They were quite fashionable actually, good taste. But he was a fool.

One cocky step later, and James was on the floor groaning. Lily snorted.

I helped my idiot friend stand and let him baby step around the small area we had commandeered for the lot of us.

Twenty minutes(six trips, two wipeouts, and a cushion charm) later, James was strutting around like a cocky newborn foal. Legs shaking and ankles awkward, but standing and mostly functional in the spindly death traps.

"Let's make it a Marauder thing! Get Moony over here! Peter!" James called, causing the other boy to turn around.

"Wear the shoes with us! C'mon, it'll be fun!" James argued with Peter, who quietly tried to ignore him in favor of his chocolate tart.

"No! I don't want to look like a fool!" He protested adamantly.

"Chicken!" James and I crowed in unison, causing Lily to groan. Too many detentions had been caused by that word. Once by the literal birds themselves.

Peter sputtered and protested, but quickly caved. Marauders were weak to the word "chicken".

Moments later, he was in a pair of gold, clunky heels that looked like his mother would wear them. (She, in fact, owned a near identical pair in pale blue). They were undeniably more sensible than ours-he was far less likely to fall on his face. We couldn't have that. A quick spell gave him a ridiculous pair of baby pink boots, nearly as high as my own shoes. Try as he might, Peter couldn't get them to change, even in color.

Remus joined us, and tore into James for irresponsibility, only faltering slightly to glare at me when I used the same spell to swap his sensible leather shoes for what looked like riding boots with platforms and too much heel, propelling him a near six inches taller than normal. The hilarious thing was that they were as glittery as mine, in gold.

Lilly was giggling uncontrollably behind me. I hid a grin at that, she's been under way too much stress lately. I'm glad we can help her loosen up a bit.

James and Remus devolved into their typical bickering about what is and isn't responsible and who cares or doesn't. (Mcgonagall had yet to reprimand us for our actions, despite the growing crowd we were attracting with our ridiculousness, so I personally counted that as a cue to keep going)

I turned back to the childish argument in time to see James turn Remus' robes into a gaudy red thing with entirely too many ruffles, and some sort of bunching trailing down the backing, making it look like his rear end was absurdly large.

Remus gave an unimpressed look to the snorting wizard in front of him, and quickly returned the spell.

Now it was my turn to snort, half choking on the chortle as it tumbled out of my mouth. James was now in a sparkly blue number, like a ballgown that had been cut short around the mid thigh.

"At least I pull it off," Moony snarked humorously. He did, in an odd way. The blue did not suit James at all. Royal blue would have been fine. Baby blue was not at _all_ his color.

James raised an eyebrow in an undaunted fashion, and turned the spell around to Peter, who yelped as it struck him in the hindquarters.

Now he was in a flouncy pink thing with flowers popping out of it and-really James. I take back what I said before, his fashion sense is terrible. Sweet peas during winter? Really?

What had been a quiet murmur throughout the crowd quickly turned into full-belted laughter as James attempted to whirl around an unwilling Remus in a mockery of the waltz, and Peter stumbled over nothing. Lilly thumped onto the floor next to me with tears of hysterical mirth in her eyes that I barely kept myself from mimicking. (I tried and failed to pick her up from the floor. My shoes and short dress combined meant that I couldn't bend over far enough to reach the floor without either falling(with no hope of getting up) or showing my arse to half the ball(I was a rebel, but not quite an exhibitionist. Remus still had me beat there.) I ended up half folded over vainly trying to help her up by the hand, overbalancing, and nearly falling. She stayed on the floor after that.)

When Peter tripped over his feet and fell onto madame Hooch, he poorly attempted to cover it by asking her to a dance. To his surprise and everyone else's(except Pomfrey, for some reason. The woman was sitting back and howling with laughter. Probably due in part to the several goblets of wine I'd seen her consuming throughout the night.) she accepted the dance. It was probably the suavest thing Peter's ever done, even if executed poorly.

I have no idea how, but somewhere between my chuckles starting and them turning into howling laughter the entire school caught wind of our escapade and began howling with us. I heard everything from uncontrollable giggling to the deep, booming belly laugh of Hagrid and Gregory Goyle.

The slytherins were laughing too, and strangely, I found that I didn't care. I caught sight of snivellus attempting to control his wheezing across the room and winked suggestively. His eyes widened and he sputtered before noticing my good-natured grin and hiding one of his own with a poorly crafted scowl. I saw the twitch of his lips and the silent shaking of his shoulders even as his face fought for an impassive front. It can be surprisingly difficult to hide laughter.

Shortly thereafter, Mcgonagall put us to a stop when Lilly and two others were taken to the hospital wing for passing out due to lack of oxygen, seven had to be given calming draughts, and a dozen more had to report cracked ribs from the force of their mirth.

Before the night was over, I demanded that we take a photo to memorialize the insanity that was our final Yule ball. (I argued that it was the best one we'd had) Peter requested our head of house to retrieve his camera(as none of us were permitted in the halls until we changed into something less absurd) she complied with a smirk and a snort, and handed it over after an elf retrieved it.

Each of us received a copy of the photo, which was easily among my favorite in the marauderding album. All of us were flushed-face and grinning like mad, with tear-tracks still smudged on our faces. Lilly was lying in the infirmary bed, in the middle of all of us. James, still in his blue, too-short ball gown and very visible black stilettos sat beside her on the bed. Peter layed down on the cot next to them in his pink-flower dress and boots, looking somewhat like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, if it weren't for the grin on his face. Remus stood just to the side of my perch on Lilly's other side, (unable to fully sit down because the dress rode too high in the front, and bunched inconveniently in the back in what Lilly called a "bustle") and had his hands on his hips, looking like a bizarre cross between a regal queen(the odd style of the dress vaguely resembling some things muggle royalty has worn centuries past), a stern matron, and a muggle horse rider(because of the boots). That is, if they went to a modern party and planned to have fun(mostly because of the length, or lack thereof).

What made it even better though, was that that wasn't our expression at all. In the photograph itself, we had varying degrees of shock and outrage as Snape accidentally walked into the frame just as the picture was taken. The muggle camera used film, so there was no altering it once it was taken. Peter bemoaned us for months that it was _his_ face that was covered by Snape in the surprised frame, while only the ridiculous dress and shoes remained.

Dumbledore dubbed the it The Great Shoe Incident of Yule, and for three months, everyone in the school was forbidden to speak of it for fear of a hysterical relapse which could cripple the school.

(It happened twice anyway.)


End file.
